


Intoxicating Touch

by TheDeadAreWalking



Series: Our Imprints [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: First Time, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Glove Kink, Light Bondage, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Power Imbalance, Praise Kink, Sensual Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 14:32:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14546778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDeadAreWalking/pseuds/TheDeadAreWalking
Summary: Bruce isn't sure which is worse, the fact that Jeremiah has him tied to a chair or the that he doesn't seem to mind? He knew he should try to escape but the look in Jeremiah's eyes held him down. He wonders if Jeremiah feels the same way?





	Intoxicating Touch

**Author's Note:**

> This rose from the hellscape of a wild discord conversation. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> All character depicted are over the age of consent and willingly consenting to whats happening. I left age ambiguous and up to the reader.

Bruce tugged his hands trying to test the ropes that held his arms behind the chair. He was sure if he struggled he could loosen them enough to get free, but then what. Jeremiah wasn't stupid, he'd plan for Bruce getting free and trying to escape.

Escape? Could he ever really get free from Jeremiah. It's been forever and he hasn't been able to get the green haired maniac out of his mind. It's like he's filled every pore of his being.

Jeremiah knew this.

Jeremiah, he thinks, feels the same way about him.

The sound of a door behind him was the only signal he had to alert him he was no longer alone in the dimly lit warehouse. The soft footsteps that padded up behind him were recognizable in an instant. Bruce could feel him leaning behind him, the soft breath he let out tickling the back of his neck, "Hello, Bruce."

"Jeremiah," Bruce says, proud of himself for sounding more confident than he feels, "What do you want?"

The soft tsking should be alarming and not send a shudder through the tied up man but it does, "I'm tired, Bruce," Jeremiah mused, ignoring Bruce's question. He walked into Bruce's peripheral vision looking the same as always, a pressed three-piece suit, shined shoes and gloves. The only thing missing from his ensemble was his hat, "I think you are, too."

Bruce glared up at the man, "What are you talking about?"

Jeremiah sighed as if this whole conversation was draining him. As if he wasn't the one to drag Bruce here and had him tied up in an abandoned warehouse. Jeremiah didn't say anything else instead sidestepping and swinging his leg to straddle Bruce.

Bruce thinks he should struggle. Try and shoved Jeremiah off, loosen the knots holding his hands, yell for help, anything. But instead, he freezes, eyes wide, mouth agape as he feels Jeremiah settle into his lap.

There's a tense moment after Jeremiah stops moving and a warm weight is atop him, neither say a word and Bruce is acutely aware they're sharing the same air. That he can see the red roots of Jeremiah's hair, can see bags under his eyes, the slight chap of his lips, stubble along his jaw, the quick moving of his eyes and he realizes Jeremiah is examining him, too. It's all too intimate, too personal.

He wonders what Jeremiah sees in him.

Jeremiah slowly raises a steady hand to the side of the younger man's face. He's not sure if it's the cool leather or sensation but he shudders, feeling goosebumps rise along his body. If Jeremiah notices he doesn't say anything.

Bruce watches as the criminal moves his face closer, could feel his chest bump against his own, can smell him heavy in the air. He can feel his breath ghost along his face before touching his lips below Bruce's ear. He couldn't even call it a kiss, it was a touch, a press. It was warm. He wanted something more.

Bruce wanted something more.

Jeremiah pulled back slightly as if gauging Bruce's reaction. Bruce swallowed thickly but didn't dare open his mouth. He's not sure what would come out if he did.

Jeremiah pulled back, resettling his weight and Bruce almost whined at the loss of warmth. Bruce wasn't supposed to feel this way. Jeremiah wasn't supposed to make him feel this way.

The glove returned to his face, gently sliding across his face to settle on the Cupid's bow of his lip. Neither said anything but as Jeremiah applied a sight pressure Bruce willingly opened his mouth.

If the slight gasp that left the taller man was anything to go by he didn't expect Bruce to do this, to allow it to go this far. Bruce isn't even sure why he's doing it but he feels like its a long time coming.

Jeremiah pressed down on his jaw and he felt himself push back before slowly rounding the finger with his tongue once, twice. Jeremiah again looked shocked but this time. Bruce watched his pupils dilate, the colorless iris's almost completely swallowed in black.

Bruce could feel him pressed against his leg.

He could feel himself pressed against Jeremiah.

Bruce felt him begin to pull his finger back before it paused at the opening of his mouth. There was a moment of silence before Jeremiah spoke, "Off," his voice sounded distant, breathless like he had just run a mile.

Bruce didn't understand the command before it clicked. He gently closed his mouth over the tip of the glove and felt Jeremiah pull his hand from it, leaving an empty glove dangling from the billionaire's mouth.

Why hadn't he run when he had the chance?

Bruce gasped and almost jumped at the feel of a warm hand cupping the side of his face, glove falling forgotten between them. He hadn't touched or been touched by Jeremiah since the day it all went bad.

Jeremiah's hand was rougher than Bruce had imagined. For some reason, he had thought they'd be soft like one of the nameless women he'd been with, especially since he always wore gloves but now that Bruce thought about it that didn't make sense. Jeremiah made a living off his creations, things he built with his hands. The roughness of them showed how hard he worked. It made Bruce hot.

He hated himself for it.

"You're such a good boy," Jeremiah whispered. Bruce felt his face blaze under the man's hand at the praise, "You always did play by the rules. Even if they were mine."

Bruce shuttered as the hand slid through his hair, scratching across his scalp and tugging slightly. He couldn't help the small gasp that left his lips finally.

Jeremiah froze, eyes transfixed on Bruce's lips. He pulled on his hair again, Bruce clenched his lips shut this time. Trying to swallow the sounds that wanted to spill out, "Be good for me, Bruce. I want to hear you."

Bruce complied. He wants to say it's out of fear of what would happen if he didn't obey but that would be a lie. A small sound clawed out of him at the loss of Jeremiah's hand. Bruce watched him remove his other glove. Suddenly one hand was in his hair and the other on the side of his face.

Bruce isn't sure when he closed his eyes but he did. He could feel the puff of hot air against his lips. Could almost feel Jeremiah's lips against his but nothing happened.

He didn't move any farther.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered, lips brushing against Bruce's, "tell me to stop and I will."

Bruce should.

Should tell him to get off him.

Should do a lot but all his does his whimper out a single word, "Jeremiah."

Bruce almost wishes Jeremiah would be quick, brutal, hurt him because the alternative is too much.

The gentle press of lips against his own makes him want to sob. It's too much, they barely move. Simply resting there.

Bruce realizes what he wants. He wants Bruce to kiss back. He wants Bruce to be an active participant and not just a bystander as this happened.

Bruce carefully moves his lips, feeling the softness of the other man and all bets are off. They both move slowly, leisurely as if they are lifetime lovers and this is normal and not tied to a chair by a murderer. The small swipe of tongue is all the warning Bruce gets before the soft slide of Jeremiah invades him.

He tastes like mint and gunpowder. Bruce wishes he didn't know what gunpowder tasted like.

He thinks he could get addicted to it if he's not careful.

Jeremiah's hand slide down from his hair to the side of his neck and Bruce isn't sure what to do. What can he do but get lost in that taste, smell, and feel of Jeremiah?

When he pulls away Bruce thinks it's over. It's probably for the best, he thinks almost sadly.

But just as suddenly as he pulls back his mouth finds the lines of his jaw, leaving bruising kisses and bites down and to the side of his neck. Bruce arches his neck to make room for the other. The feeling is too much, he's only now aware of the small rolls of their hips together. The pressure and urgency building in his gut.

"We shouldn't do this," Bruce says finally finding his voice. He feels a smile press against his neck followed by a small kiss.

Jeremiah pulls back, eyes wide and lips swollen. He looks a mess, Bruce wonders if he looks any better. Jeremiah rests his hands on the other's shoulders, "Do you want me to stop now?" He said with a slow roll of his hips, leaving Bruce breathless, "All you have to do is tell me," he whispered letting a hand trail over Bruce's chest and between them, "Tell me and I stop," he growled now stroking the obvious bulge pressing against Bruce's trousers.

"Fuck me," Bruce moans throwing his head back and arching into Jeremiah's hand.

Jeremiah laughs. It would sound terrifying if he wasn't so breathless, "Sadly we don't have time for that," he whispered undoing Bruce's pants, "Today."

Bruce yelped at the feeling of a hand wrapped around him pulling him into the open slowly. Jeremiah's mouth returned to his and he hungrily kissed back. He didn't know which way was up all he knew was that if Jeremiah stopped he'd die.

Then Jeremiah stopped.

Bruce looked at him as if he had just punched him but quickly recovered when he saw what he was doing. He drank in the sight of Jeremiah quickly, almost desperately pulling himself from his pants.

Jeremiah was always so composed, the sight of him wretched was enough to make his cock twitch against his stomach. Bruce groaned at the feeling of Jeremiah's cock against his own as the man stroked them together. He wouldn't last much longer, but he doesn't think Jeremiah would either.

They weren't even kissing anymore, mouth just panting against each other, sweat making hair cling to their foreheads and soft grunts leaving each other's mouths as the speed to the finish line.

"Look what you do to me, Bruce," Jeremiah grit out behind his teeth. He stroked them faster, "The things I'd do for you. The things I've done for you. Everything is for you."

Bruce could see sparks of white behind his clenched eyes. The words washing over him, leaving him breathless.

"For me," Bruce chokes out, cumming as he arches his back and pulls on the restraints holding him.

Jeremiah watches as if he had just seen all the answers of the universe spelled across Bruce's face as he breathes out, "For you," and releases all over Bruce's shirt.

They spend the next several moments catching their breath and thinking about what just happened. Jeremiah hasn't felt this light in years. Bruce hadn't felt this awful in years. "Do you regret this?" Jeremiah asks, pulling out a knife and cutting the restraints.

Bruce quickly pulls his hands forward, shoulders crying out in relief and rubbing the sore marks on his wrist. "I wish," he whispered as Jeremiah presses a kiss to the red marks on his hands. He thinks he might cry, "God I wish."

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought! I don't often write smut, if this even was smut, so id love some feedback. Also if you have a request for anything let me know!
> 
> I know Bruce seems to regret things but who knows.


End file.
